


Vingt-trois.

by TwoCatsTailoring



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Positive Ending, F/M, Post-Trespasser, Trauma, Yelling, bad coping mechinasims, iron bull types of violence, round-about self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 07:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14564448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoCatsTailoring/pseuds/TwoCatsTailoring
Summary: The worst twenty-three days of their lives came after the dust had settled.





	Vingt-trois.

**Un.**

 

If anybody asked, he was just along for the ride. Same as Dorian, same as Sera. Okay, not exactly the same because they looked as scared as he felt but wasn’t showing, preferring instead to focus on how proud he was of her at this level of righteous anger. 

 

Echo, his Echo (and how many jokes had they had about that over the past two and a half years?) had just declared the Inquisition to be disbanded - shrunk to a more manageable size - and let a roomful of puffed up nobles know that she’d fucking had it. Argh! She was irresistible when she was that determined!

 

She had just told the royal guard of the Winter Palace to, “Move, or I will move you!” They moved, and kept jumping out of her way all the way to the Celene’s private quarters. And now his beloved kadan was ordering the Empress of Orlais to turn over some poor, defunked nobleman’s titles and estates to her and demanding to know where Briala was.

 

Wait. Briala? The elf spymaster that was in Celene’s back pocket (and bed, probably. Again.) Annnnd Echo  _ really  _ did not like the uncertain answer that Celene was stuttering.

 

When she turned on her heel, there was something beyond the fierce glint in her eyes. Something that he didn’t recognize. At least, not on her face. He’d seen it before though, he just couldn’t quite remember where.

 

No time to either because the rushed look he’d gotten at her now-missing left arm and hand had only convinced him it needed professional attention. No blood anywhere and she said no pain. But no arm, no hand, no anchor either, and a whole lot of crawly looking magic bullshit rippling under her skin. 

 

**Deux.**

 

The preparations for her immediate removal from the Winter Palace filled what few hours they had left. Dispatches sent, goodbye’s said to Cullen and Dorian, orders given. 

 

“What are your plans?” The look was mostly gone by the time she sat in front of the fireplace, letting her hair dry. The scars along what was left of her arm were weird, spidery, magic things. He felt a little sick remembering how they pulsed then exploded without warning, her screams ripping the air as she hit the ground every time.

 

It felt like it was burned into his brain. Watching the anchor build up while they fought through demons, then the acrid taste of the air when it blew. Her constant insistence around gritted teeth that she was fine, keep moving. He had a sneaky suspicion that it might never leave. Could anybody watch that happen to their kadan and forget?

 

“Thought I’d tag along with you. I’m not keen on letting you out of reach just yet.”

Her chuckle was weak, sore and weary but her smile was genuine. “I just want to get away from everything for a while.”

 

“I’ll go where you lead, boss.”

 

**trois.**

 

She lead them to  none other than Chateau D’Onterre in the Emerald Graves. Pretty, yeah, but what was she thinking? Last time they had been there, there’d been a little  _ undead  _ problem. Sure, they’d solved it by taking out the box full of demons in the courtyard but was she serious?

 

**Quatre.**

 

She was completely serious and they were on their way. Before leaving there had been some heated words with Josephine but, in the end, they had hugged and he was pretty sure Josephine shed a tear or two.

 

Good woman, Josephine. Even better friend.

 

**Cinq.**

 

“I just,” she was shaking her head and her face was blank. Her eyes dull. “I just want to be as far from all of THAT as I can be right now. After nearly three years, I’ve earned a vacation.”

 

He could not argue with that one bit. But something seemed off. Cole had stopped talking all together and that was weirder than the crap that came out of his mouth. The last thing he said was, “Pain, white, hot, cold, numb. Who will be the lamb this time? Me for real this time?”

 

**Six.**

 

It was pretty. Even with it’s shitty history, it was impossible not to appreciate the peaceful beauty of the Emerald Graves.

 

Fitting somehow, that Cole chose here to leave them. Weird kid but there was no denying that he helped a lot of people in his way. He left his… form behind and Echo watched as he slipped back through the Veil, promising that he would never be far. That he would still help as much as he could.

 

She’d cried helpless tears in the Deep Roads, leaving Valta behind had felt all wrong to her. But for Cole, who she’d stood up for, believed in, worked so hard to really understand? 

 

She only took his hat and moved on. Delayed reactions weren’t really her thing. But then again, neither was that whole ‘elder god’ crap. Life was just really shitty sometimes.

 

**Sept.**

 

Arrival was chaos, of course. Inquisition staff, household staff, guards, a few Chargers, and half a household’s worth of stuff all dropping in to one location was bound to be crazy. But Echo had brightened a little bit. Maybe she really did need to get away - relax and regroup.

 

He’d forgotten about the dragon in the ballroom.

 

“We should take it down,” she’d suggested, trying to figure out what crossing her arms would look like now as she paused to appreciate his devastation before continuing, “Maybe replace it with a real one?”

 

This.  _ This  _ was why he loved her. She always knew how to make an ordinary day perfect.

 

**Huit.**

 

The Chargers set up operations in the ballroom because, “I’m not having parties here.” Bull still made sure they save some room though. If Echo was as serious about this Red Jenny stuff as Sera believed, there was going to be a lot of loot and weirdness rolling through soon.

 

Scouts reporting back in say that not much has changed. With the new peace, a handful of Dalish were around but they seemed to be passing through on their way elsewhere. Someone reported a family of bears near the old outpost. That bore keeping in mind.

 

**Neuf.**

 

A pattern emerged in their lives and it is not a nice one. He worked hard to make sure that, at least with him, she never has to be anyone but herself. And because of that hard work - a lot of it uphill for them both because she  _ is  _ the Inquisition and very aware of it - he knows her, inside and out. Know how she thinks and how she’ll react.

 

But  _ this _ ? Sure, have some delayed grief over the loss of a friend, be in shock because you’ve been lied to and hurt and outright used by another, lost an arm, and stopped a whole lot of important people getting blown up with bitching instead of thanks as a reward. Be angry, lash out. Drip sarcasm like poison into every waiting ear. She would do all of that.

 

But she hasn’t said a word to anyone all day. Literally, not a single sound has passed her lips. So while she's standing in front of her windows he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, another just behind her ear in that sweet tender spot that makes her shiver. And she shrugs him off, pushing him away with a tiny little shake of her head.

 

“Katoh.”

 

One word all day, and it is that one. He can’t ignore it now, this is  _ all  _ wrong.

 

**Dix.**

 

There’s letters from Josephine, Divine Victoria, and Dorian. 

 

Why is Dorian writing to her? He gave her that magic necklace to avoid having to write because writing wouldn’t be safe.

 

**Onze.**

 

The letters haven’t moved from where the secretary put them.

 

She’s finally talked to somebody - she asked him where her trunk with her armor was. And explained she wanted to go after those bears. 

 

“It’s something to do.”

 

She won’t let him come with her. Won't let anyone come with her. He’s not dumb enough to think she’s just bored. He’s also not dumb enough to think that he knows what to do for her right now.

 

**Douze.**

 

“Damn, that’s a lot of blood for a few bears.”

 

“It wasn’t bears.”

 

That gets his attention as much as her carefully neutral tone of voice. It’s the one she used right before somebody got an earful in the past. He’s not sure those rules apply anymore.

 

In a carefully measured answer to his raised eyebrow, she offers, “Giants.”

 

Bile rises in the back of his throat. Or maybe it's fear. “As in more than one?”

 

She’s not helpless. She’s not weak or incapable of looking after herself in any situation. He would not love her so much if that was who she was. But she is also one person. And one person (and the one who owned his heart at that) against more than one giant was not great odds.

 

“As in four.”

 

What he is feeling is fear. The cold kind, like in the Fade. 

 

They’ve been through a lot together. Beyond the whole Corypheus thing and now the Qunari thing and what’s probably going to be a Solas thing eventually, it’s still a lot. 

 

He had to figure what being Tal-Vashoth actually meant, what his own past actions have been in light of that meaning. And she was the one who slammed her fist into his face, breaking his nose and two of her fingers because the suffocating weight of all those realizations was too much for him. She had pointed out later, in a heated argument borne of his own fear, that the life he’d built  _ beyond _ the Qun had taught him the adaptability to not give into madness. That the very strictness that bred such dependency was something he’d already gotten past on his own.

 

He had to learn how to be  _ in _ love and be okay with that level of risk and vulnerability. And it was her constant presence and cool, level head that made trusting her easier. Her wicked tongue and sly wit that made her first and foremost an engaging friend, a companion. Even when he pulled back, unsure in the face of her open affection, she never waivered waiting for him to close the distance again. 

 

Even her subtle, shifting behaviour - that diplomatic, carefully crafted exterior shell that could make anyone believe anything and that won over the court of Orlais - held comfort for him. She hated every second of it, spit venomous words ranting and railing against the necessity of it with her inner circle, but she did it. She made the hard decisions, stuck out the consequences. He respected and admired that chameleon skin. It was sobering when he realized that she only ever shed it completely for him.

 

And through every second of all that, she’d been the one standing right there with him - frequently holding the Stick, both the literal and figurative ones. No matter what, no matter how wrong he had been or how stupid or how harsh or how spooked, she was always there. His anchor, his roots, his home.

 

And she’s just wandered out into the Graves, taken on four giants alone, came back, and told him this like it didn’t matter at all. As if the risk didn't matter.

 

“You took on four giants, alone,  _ one handed _ ?” He was shouting. But he didn’t have much choice.

 

She just leveled a stare at him, through him maybe. “I have to figure out how to fight like this at some point.”

 

Then she walks away.

 

**Treize.**

 

Josephine’s letter is still unopened but she’s looked at Dorian’s. No sign of the Divine’s anywhere. Now there’s a package from Sera added to the stack, women’s smallclothes spilling out of it over the desk. All monogrammed CAPCFP. Her only reaction is to huff the barest sound of amusement and return to the chateau's library.

 

He’s tempted to call in a mage - Madame de Fer, maybe - to see if there is a cure for whatever Fade magic bullshit is taking her away by inches.

 

**Quatorze.**

 

She is nestled in beside him fast asleep rolled into a tight ball. Which is the opposite of a problem and a major issue at the same time.

 

Very enjoyable because any contact from her is welcome right now (he is still not over the giants and how close to death she must have come. Why would she do that? Does she actually  _ want  _ to die? He can’t think about that right now. He has to sleep eventually.) It’s keeping him awake worrying because usually? She sleeps sprawled all over the place like a starfish dropped in a barrel of ale.

 

This hard little ball pressed against his ribs is almost unrecognizable. She only has tight-lipped grimaces for smiles, he hasn't heard her laugh in weeks, and all she does is pile up books in the library, pouring over the crates of them that arrive a few times a day. One, she opened, it glowed, shot sparks that she dodged and her only reaction to that was to call Dalish to read it.

 

And Dalish didn’t even pretend she couldn't. So it wasn’t just him who was noticing something was wrong.

 

**Quinze.**

 

He had to do something. Everybody in the house was looking to him to fix this situation and their expectation made the back of his neck burn. 

 

What the fuck was he even supposed to do when she locked herself in their room and he could hear the shatter of glass and the rawness of her screams as she destroyed everything she could?

 

“She’s read a letter from Divine Victoria.” Charter’s choice of words, whispered across the din of rage just beyond the door. 

 

“What did it say?” he demanded. Anything, anything to go on would be fabulous right now.

 

“I have no idea. She ripped it apart then threw it in the fire.”

 

**Seize.**

 

He’d been ready to break down the door. Two hours after her destruction ended in the most gut-churning calm he’d ever heard, he’d been ready to break the door down. He tried knocking first. Civility and all. 

 

She popped the latch on the door and let it swing open on it’s own as she crossed the room and dropped into place on the stairs. And, out of all the destruction around the room the only thing that struck him was the fact that she had made a very clear effort to clean it up. He took stock of both facts as he sat down close to her.

 

She didn’t hide it or get rid of all the evidence (doing that would have emptied the room anyway; everything had been in her path and everything showed it) but she’d picked up the big pieces of broken ornaments and swept the small pieces into a neat pile. Split wood was all in one area while the linens she’d torn down or ripped apart were in another.

 

“I’m sorry.” The words were weak, and she felt exhausted as she leaned against his arm, slipping her tiny hand into his. “I just….”

 

She wasn’t trailing off because she would have flapped her hand around if there was some kind of vagueness or uncertainty in her mind. She knew exactly why she’d done this and exactly what she’d been thinking when she did it. She clamped her mouth shut and tightened her grip on his hand and refused to say anything else. 

 

She was the  _ talker _ in this relationship and she wasn’t willing to talk. 

 

**Dix-sept** **.**

 

If she wasn’t willing to talk to him, maybe she would talk to somebody else. 

 

“Bull, I was worried but now I am damned near terrified. She answered me once the day she left the Winter Palace, but though I have tried I’ve only gotten silence since. I was actually wondering if the magic wasn’t working.”

 

“Let me guess,” he dragged a hand down his face. “That’s what your letter was about.”

 

“Of course it was. But now you tell me that our darling Echo, who sassed the whole of the Gray Wardens, who insisted that Corypheus get used to disappointment, and not only encouraged but participated in large-scale mass pranks with Sera is silent, brooding, and inclined to violent outbursts?”

 

Bull just grunted in response and Dorian’s voice grew serious and grim. “Bull, do I need to come?”

 

“No, you’ve got more than your share of crap to deal with.” 

 

“Because I will. You know that I will do anything that I can for either of you.”

 

Dorian was a good man. But he was also in up to his neck in Tevinter bullshit that was way more life-threatening than this.

 

“All she has to do is touch this thing and she can hear you, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Talk to her. About whatever, I don’t care.”

 

“Happily, my friend.” Dorian’s voice shifted back to it’s usual timbre. “You know how much I enjoy the sound of my own voice.”

 

**Dix-huit.**

 

“Ser.” 

 

He was looking over maps with Krem, trying to figure out the best path to get to the job they’d taken out on the Plains. Krem was favoring the shortest, most direct route. Bull was in favor of anything else because there were too many good opportunities along the other routes.

 

Bull peeled his eyes away from the map to look at the cook and he felt the tension snap in his jaw at the expression on her face. 

 

“You asked me to tell you if Her Worship refused to eat. She’s declined both breakfast and lunch today, ser.”

 

From somewhere very far away he heard himself thank the woman and watched her leave.

 

“Chief,” Krem punched him in the arm to get his attention. “You’ve gotta push this. Soon.”

 

“I know that,” he growled in response.

 

“Meet her on common ground. Ropes, chains, whatever else you two get up to.” He was trying to be helpful but the distinct lack of anything even remotely resembling a sex life since the Exalted Council was a sensitive subject. 

 

Under Bull’s glare, Krem tried again with a shrug and a smirk, “Or get the Stick.”

 

**Dix-neuf.**

 

Krem was a genuis. A smartass, yes. But a genius in this time. It took Bull most of the day to find a suitable replacement for his Stick. 

 

Echo had broken the other one in her rampage.

 

**Vingt.**

 

He had to keep this simple. Somehow, that felt right when nothing else did right now. And simple looked like meeting her out in the courtyard - no longer knee-high in browning grasses but with some bare patches from where the guards trained - and handing her the new Stick.

 

“Make it count.”

 

All she did was nod before she connected wood to flesh. And it helped. After about four good hits, his mind was clearer than it had been in what felt like ages and after eight the mess that was their world seemed to actually have some answers.

 

At nine, she let out a blood curdling shriek and broke the Stick across her thigh. It took him a second to realize what a feat that really was, and another to realize that she had just slammed half of a birch sapling across her thigh hard enough to break it. 

 

And she was still screaming, her head back, eyes closed, fist still balled tight around what was left of the Stick. And once her breath ran out, she turned on him.

 

“WHAT,” she bellowed, “DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

 

He had never actually seen someone frothing with rage before and he had to admit that while her angry was sexy, this was not. This was like taking an arrow from the shadows, only it lodged itself in his heart.

 

“YOU BRING ME A MAKER-DAMNED STICK, LIKE I’M SUPPOSED TO FIX YOU WITH IT! I CAN’T FIX ANYTHING! I….” She stopped there, her shoulders heaving as she caught her breath, swallowed, coughed. Screamed again.

 

He counted backwards from twenty, that was usually how long it took her to collect herself and start talking again when she was upset but this wasn’t ordinary upset. This was something agonizing to watch. He could only imagine how she felt.

 

“HERALD OF ANDRASTE,” there was the venom, bubbling like acid with every yelled word, “SAVIOUR OF THEDAS, SEALING THE BREACH AND SAVING US ALL! Now just a one armed, dual-wielding, useless... worthless... still expected to fix all the niggling little bullshit problems for people who can’t even say thank you!”

 

She was running out of steam. Bull reached out a hand to pull her in but she cracked the leftover Stick across his knuckles.

 

“DON’T TOUCH ME! I CAN’T HELP YOU! I CAN’T DO…. I can’t help anybody! I….” She hurled the remains of the Stick across the courtyard and probably would have screamed again if her voice would have allowed her to, but all that can out was a rasping groan. “I can’t fix _ any of this _ !”

 

He’s kind of past the initial shock of it, now. The screaming is a surprise - definitely not her usual style. And while the dejection and frustration that’s bleeding through her anger is completely justifiable in her circumstances, the hopelessness that she’s fixed on is…. Well, he’s not sure what it is beyond painful to hear and complete

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“What?” That baffled little wrinkle between her eyebrows will never not be adorable.

 

She’s either tired enough or surprised enough now to be derailed into listening. “I’m calling bullshit. Who’s asking you to fix anything?”

 

Her shoulders go limp but her unamused huff jerk them back. “Everyone? Dorian saying,  _ let me know if you get any leads, everything I have will be at your service _ ? Josephine, begging me to stay just a little while longer,  _ wrap up the Council properly _ ?” She began to pace, “Fucking Leliana sending me four pages of questions that I’ve already answered about everything that Solas said to me and how he said it? And probably all of Thedas soon enough once all of his motherFUCKING PLANS GET STARTED?”

 

Nope, that’s enough yelling. He’s over it and it’s counterproductive now that she’s finally getting all this out of her system. “All of your friends want to help,” okay, so maybe he had to start out louder than he really wanted to but at least he’s he’s got her attention completely now. “And they are all going to try to help you however they know how. I’ll go bash any skull you want, any time you want. That doesn’t mean I expect you to know where that oily little shit is right now.”

 

“So I’m just supposed to wait until he opens another hole in the sky? This time one I can’t close because he took back the anchor and the arm it was attached to?” she spat back.

 

“No but you give yourself and the Inquisition’s people some time.”

 

“Oh, yes. Of course. Because we surely have all the time in the world. Solas will certainly wait until we are ready.” 

 

He had to smile at the sarcasm but the thing that brought him the most joy was the fact that when she paused in her pacing this time to look at him, her eyes were a little less dead. 

 

“No but he can’t do much right now. He said himself that he still didn’t have the power and that your anchor wasn’t enough, right?”

 

“Something like that,” she conceded reluctantly. “But…”

 

“No. No buts.” Bull closed the distance between them in 2 strides and put a hand on her shoulder. “You told me once that you were actually in the process of running away when you heard Justinia call for help. You answered that, got tossed in a pile of shit deeper than you are tall, and still managed to build a fucking Inquisition and make it successful.”

 

She wouldn’t look him in the eye and he knew it was only because she knew he was right. “I had a lot of help,” she pointed out to the toes of her boots.

 

“You still do, if you’ll just look around and see it.”

 

When she didn’t say anything else, Bull pulled her to him, wrapping both arms around her and breathing a little easier when her hand wrapped around the lower strap of his harness and held on tight. 

 

**Vingt-et-Un.**

 

She was perched on the edge of her desk like one of those leggy birds that like marshes when he walked in with days reports.

 

“Fucking spiders crawling up out of the caves to the west again.”

 

“He doesn’t care if he destroys everything and everyone, Bull. He’s determined to bring down the veil.” Her look isn’t terrified but mystified, confused. A little bit lost. 

 

“He’ll have to get through me first, kadan. And, last time I checked, godly powers or not, he was still just a squishy little bag of meat.”

 

“That,” she said with a weak smile, “sounds repulsive.”

 

**Vingt-Deux.**

 

She cried herself to sleep. Uncontrolled, wracking sobs that went on for an hour and a half at least before they dissolved into hiccupping sniffles until she was so exhausted her eyes kept leaking tears as she slept.

 

He’d never been so relieved to wake up with her hand in his face. 

 

**Vingt-trois.**

 

Josephine’s letter was opened, read, and answered in the same day. It took her almost no time, and Echo was smiling just a little when she handed off her reply to the scout who was headed that direction. And he heard Dorian’s voice - distorted through whatever fucked up hallways magic traveled through - coming from the library and Echo’s answering him. It was relieving and he felt like he was able to breathe again.

 

The bruise she’d given herself across her thigh was spectacular, all black and purple and blue. It would turn that nasty yellow a couple of days if Stitches’ poultice worked like he promised. 

 

Echo appeared lost in thought, surveying the stump of her arm critically while Bull smoothed on twice as much ointment as the bruise probably needed. 

 

“I think I’ll send a message to Sera,” she said with a frown. “And ask her to come.”

 

Bull was immediately suspicious but didn't want to show it. This was a really good sign and he did not want to actively discourage it. “Okay….”

 

“And bring Dagna.”

 

That was a terrifying idea as far as Bull was concerned and there was no hiding it. “Why would you do  _ that _ ?”

 

“She can build masterwork weapons and armor. I’d like to know if she could craft something to get some use back in this,” she nodded to her missing limb.

 

As weird as Dagna was to him, and as much trouble as having Sera around could be, this was the first time in over a month that Echo was showing any signs of looking forward without being grim about it. 

 

“Sounds good, kadan” he agreed. Let them blow the place sky-high. It’d be a small price to pay.


End file.
